


The Beginning

by A_Beautiful_Irony



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Catwoman (Comics), Catwoman - All Media Types
Genre: Abandoned work - I may pick it back up later, Allusions to Trauma, Angst & Humor, But please don’t go into this one expecting regular installments, Canon Divergence, Childhood, Childhood Trauma, F/M, First Kiss, First Meeting, TOO MUCH CUTE, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2769644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Beautiful_Irony/pseuds/A_Beautiful_Irony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Selina Kyle and Bruce Wayne had met as children? What if she had been there to see the beginning of the bat? What would have happened if, through the most tumultuous moments in their lives, they had had one another to hold onto - and that much more to lose?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission for a fellow Archiver. I hope you enjoy!

The first time they met was at a funeral. She was four, he was five. It was raining. 

Neither of them cried. They didn’t know the man lying in the casket, pale and still, and somehow smug, even in death. 

Neither of them really knew why they were there. Their parents weren’t crying. They weren’t happy… all of the adults there radiated tension, standing like wolves or carrion birds around the deepening patch of earth. Stock-still, they looked like tombstones themselves. Just more old rock with old names in an old cemetery already too full of them. 

Selina glanced up at her mother, tossing a wet ebony curl out of her eyes. Her father was not here. Neither was Maggie, though maybe that made sense, because Maggie was just a baby. She’d probably make noise. And this was definitely a… silent event. 

“Mama,” Selina whispered loudly. 

“Ssh.” The sound was short, harsher than usual. Her mother’s face was strained. 

Selina huffed and looked around. The people here were strange. Up at the front of the mob, a group of women huddled together, crying and moaning in a language Selina couldn’t understand. It sounded like gibberish. 

Maybe they were speaking in tongues. Hadn’t the nun-ladies told a story like that? Babbling and tongues and stuff? 

Selina looked to her right, at the small person, barely taller than herself, standing a few feet from her. She had noticed the boy earlier, making faces at her from behind his mother’s skirt. Selina had stuck her tongue out at him. Now, he was scowling and digging the toe of his shiny black shoe into the mud. 

Suddenly the weeping grew louder, and everyone present stiffened, save for the two children, who could not see what there was to stand stiff for.

People began to step forward then back, each dropping something into the pit. The boy was craning his short neck to see beyond the forest of legs, hoping for a better glimpse of whatever was going on. Selina merely stood back and waited. 

Presently, her mother took her hand and pushed their way through the crowd. It parted quietly, like the masses in the face of their savior. Or cowards in the path of a leper. 

The coffin rested at the bottom of a hole, very deep and dark to Selina’s eyes. Before she could shrink into her mother’s side, she was handed a rose by the attending priest. It was blood-red, and still had its thorns, which Selina was careful to avoid touching. She watched her mother cast the rose down into the pit, watched it land amongst the countless others on the polished wooden surface. She let hers fall as well. Then she looked up.

The priest was staring at her, an odd expression on his face. He looked almost… confused. Certainly uncertain. Maybe even a little angry. 

A man stood behind him, consoling an inconsolable woman with nervous pats and murmurs. His hair was dark like Selina’s own, his eyes a flat grey. He had a broad forehead and a thin mustache. The woman had wild red hair that, combined with the thick cloak she wore, obscured everything else about her, except the fact that she was pregnant. A girl stood at her hem. She looked to be about Selina’s age, but she was bigger, with hair the same color as the woman’s, and impassive, grey eyes.

The man was staring at Selina. It reminded her of the way the nun-ladies look when you’re wrong about something. The woman was looking like that too. 

Everyone was looking at her, she realized. All around her, eyes bore down, accusing, cold. Her mother held her head high and turned to walk back into the frozen mass. All eyes turned to her, this tall woman with dark hair and impossibly green eyes. The expressions for her mother were hostile, burning with animosity. Selina stepped closer, wanting to protect her from the onslaught. 

Then it was over, everyone’s attention focused on the next rose in line. The next person stepped forward, and the next. Her mother said nothing. But her face was white. 

Toward the end, the boy and his parents also approached the dead man. Selina could see the two adults were very uncomfortable, though they hid it well. The boy simply glared into the pit bemusedly. The rose barely touched his fingers before he dropped it in and began tugging his parents back in the direction of the parking lot. Selina cocked her head to one side.

The party dispersed. Selina followed her mother into the car, and they pulled out of the cemetery, following the long train of vehicles back to some big house Selina had never seen before. 

The light inside was dim, the electric lamps low to accommodate the morbid splendor of hundreds of candles flickering on every surface. There were tables of food, and funny-smelling flowers. Aside from a few whispered words behind closed hands, Selina and her mother were completely ignored. 

“Mama, what’s a ‘pertonna?” 

“It’s just something that cruel people say, Selina,” her mother murmured. 

“Oh.”

Selina touched her mother’s hand a moment.

“I’m tired,” she said.

“I know, baby,” her mother replied, glancing between her daughter and a man in the corner. Selina recognized the man by his grey eyes. Her mother’s body had gone rigid, and she was very pale. “Mama needs to step outside for a moment.” Selina’s brow wrinkled. 

“Can’t we just go home?”

“Not just yet.” 

“Can I come outside with you?”

“No!” Selina jumped, startled. Her mother knelt before her, placing cool hands on her shoulders. “Listen to me,” she said, forcing her voice lower. “You stay right here, by this table. I’ll be right back. I promise.” Selina grabbed her hand. Her mother stilled, squeezed it once, and pulled away, disappearing into the crowd. 

Selina stifled a yelp. Normally, she was used to this sort of thing, but that was at home, not in this strange place with all these people. She stepped into the corner by the buffet table and tried to make herself small. Smaller. 

Two ladies regarded her coolly for a moment, then moved on. One of them whispered something as they passed, but Selina couldn’t understand it. She wished all of them would just go away.

A hand touched her shoe. Selina screamed. 

“Ssh, be quiet. Stupid girl,” a voice grumbled from under the table, cutting off her high-pitched squeal by dragging her beneath the tablecloth. Selina landed in a heap. Rubbing her now-sore backside, the little girl looked up at her assailant. It was the boy from earlier, looking rather unimpressed with his catch.

“Why’d you do that,” she huffed, furious. 

“I didn’t know it was you,” he scoffed. “Thought it would be someone interesting.” 

“What’s--,” she began loudly, but he put his hand over her mouth, shushing her. She pushed him away and tried again more quietly:

“What’s ‘interesting’ mean?” 

“I dunno. Like… good,” he finished lamely. 

“Oh.” She thought a moment, wondering when her mother would be back to look for her. “Why are you under here?” 

“Hiding.” 

“From what?”

“Everybody.” He waved his hands emphatically. “Everybody wants to talk to my parents, and they pretend they want to talk to me too, and they pinch my cheek, and it hurts. They’re stupid and I don’t like them. So I’m hiding.” 

“You’re rude,” she accused. 

“I am not,” he whispered indignantly.

“Are too.” She crossed her arms.

“Am not!”

“Are too. My mama says it’s rude to call people names.” 

“Well my mama says dumb girls shouldn’t talk.”

“I’m not dumb!”

“Are too.”

“Am not!” 

“Are too! Ow! Get off!” 

Selina had tackled him. She was not very big, but neither was he, and he seemed to adhere to the sacred rule: Don’t hit girls. 

He pushed her away, trying to block her tiny fists with his hands.

Selina climbed on top of him, sitting on his chest, her black skirts billowing up around her as she pummeled him. Finally, he managed to flip over, bucking her off. She hit her head on the bottom of the table and fell, crying out. 

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“No,” she said angrily. “I wanna go home!” 

“Me too,” he sighed. He sat up fully, crossing his legs. There was an awkward pause. Then he extended his hand. 

“I’m Bruce,” he said. She eyed the proffered appendage for a moment before finally answering, 

“Selina.” 

“Hi,” he said. She smiled, recovering instantly.

“Hi.” 

“So. Why do you wanna go home so bad? ‘Cause there’s no other girls?” Selina shook her head.

“I don’t think they like me,” she said. 

“Who?”

“Them.” She waved, indicating the adults milling about outside their tablecloth sanctuary. 

“Oh. Why?” Selina shrugged in reply.

“I’m sorry,” he offered. It was all he could do, really. 

“Thanks.” 

“And, uh. I’m sorry about making you hit your head.”

“That’s ok,” Selina sighed. There was a pause.

“Um,” Bruce said finally, turning bright red. “Do you want me to kiss you?” 

Selina made a face.

“What?” He shifted uncomfortably, glowering into the distance.

“It’s in all the storybooks. The girl is sad, and the boy makes it better with a kiss. I’m not a knight, and I guess you’re not a princess, but it should still work. It works when my mama does it.” 

“Mine too,” she conceded. “But I don’t know where she went.” 

“Will she come back,” he asked. 

“She always comes back,” the little girl snorted, rolling her eyes as if this were obvious. 

“Oh. Ok.” They watched each other. “So,” he finally said. “Want me to try?” 

She searched his eyes, not sure what she was looking for. In any case, they were very blue, fringed by thick lashes, dark hair falling into them haphazardly. Selina knew her eyes were green, like her mother’s. It was odd, to think he might be seeing her eyes the way she was seeing his. 

“Well,” she decided. “Ok.” 

Bruce took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“What are you doing,” she interrupted. “Your eyes are closed.”

“That’s how they do it in the fairytales,” he explained, surprised.

“But then how will you see?” Her nose wrinkled. “You could miss!”

“Oh. You have a point.” Uncertainly, he adjusted himself, thinking the problem over. 

“Just keep your eyes open,” she said, exasperated. He shrugged, conceding to logic. 

Bruce leaned in slowly, eyes open, trained on her lips. When they were nearly touching, he switched his gaze to hers. Then he kissed her. 

He pressed his lips to hers, held them there, and pulled away. And it was over. 

He sat back and looked at her.

“Huh.”

“What,” she asked. He tilted his head to the side.

“It just… wasn’t awful.” 

“Was it supposed to be?” She sounded a little miffed.

“I don’t know.” 

“Then why’d you ask me, if you thought it might be awful?” 

“Um. Noble sacrifice?”

“What’s ‘sacrifice’,” she asked, but just then, the tablecloth was lifted, revealing their hiding place to all. A man’s respectable face appeared before them, mustache twitching in a smile. For a moment, Selina thought it was the glaring man from before, but this one had blue eyes, like Bruce.

“Aha!” the man exclaimed. “There you are. I’ve found your cave. And I see you’ve made a friend.” He seemed jolly enough, Selina thought. 

“Dad!” Bruce exclaimed. “This is—,” he looked at her, embarrassed. “What’d you say your name was again?”

“Selina,” said Selina. 

“Selina,” Bruce repeated. 

“Well, Miss Selina,” Bruce’s daddy said, helping her out from under the table. “You had better find your parents. They’re probably worried about you.” 

“I don’t know where they are,” she said seriously.

“Well, maybe Bruce and I can help you find them, then.” He picked her up to keep her small frame from being trampled by some of the more inebriated mourners.

“Where did you see them last?” 

“Mama went that way,” she told him. “I’m supposed to stay here ‘till she gets back.” 

“By yourself?” He sounded concerned now. “How long has she been gone?”  


Selina shrugged.

“She told me to wait, then some ladies walked by, then…” She looked at Bruce questioningly. 

“Bruce,” his father supplied gently.

“Then Bruce pulled me under the table, and then now.” 

“He did what?” The father looked at his son sharply. Bruce shifted from foot to foot guiltily. “That was very rude of him.” 

“That’s what I said,” Selina agreed. Bruce grumbled something in return, but his father was talking again. 

“What is your mother’s name? What does she look like?” 

“M’mama’s name’s Maria. She looks like me.” 

Sudden muttering from around them made the little trio look up. 

“Can you believe it?”

“Vergongoso.” 

“The nerve…”

“And at poor Vincent’s funeral, too!” 

A tall, svelte woman with piercing green eyes was bearing down upon them. Her hair was in pin curls beneath a veiled pillbox cap, and her dress was home-made, but impeccable. 

“Mama,” Selina exclaimed, squirming out of Bruce’s daddy’s grasp. 

“Selina,” her mother sighed, embracing her daughter. Then she turned to Bruce’s daddy and her expression went from one of utter suspicion to utter shock. “Oh. Mr. Wayne,” she managed. “Whatever brings you to this circus?” 

“Obligation,” he replied. “And ‘circus’ is a very good word for it.” 

“Are you staying much longer?” 

“No, actually. Martha couldn’t stand the hypocrisy, and left to get Alfred - our butler - with the car a short while ago. I elected to stay, to brave the swarm and find the kid.” 

“And you found a couple of kids in the bargain,” Selina’s mama deduced wryly. Mr. Wayne smiled. 

“Indeed.” 

“Thank you for staying with her,” she went on. “I was worried sick, but I couldn’t take her with me on my errand. I appreciate it.” 

“Not at all.” 

Snickers and appalled gasps rippled around them. English and Italian blended together, but the general sentiment was ‘she’s at it again.’ Selina’s mother stiffened. 

“Well, that’s that,” she said. “Time to go.” 

“I agree.” Mr. Wayne picked Bruce up. The boy smiled, throwing his arms about his father’s neck. Selina sat similarly in her mother’s arms. They made their way to the front door together, but Bruce’s father was stopped just inside the frame by an old woman wishing them goodbye. She pinched Bruce’s cheek. He looked ready to spit. 

Selina giggled. 

“Hey,” she called as their parents walked down the steps. He looked up, grimacing. She leaned over slightly and, before he could do anything to stop her, kissed him on the offending spot. He looked startled. His father laughed. 

Selina cocked her head to the side, thinking Bruce was right. 

It wasn’t awful.


	2. What Happened Next

The second time they met was by coincidence, two weeks later, at a department store downtown. It was still raining. 

The children had both run to the same storefront window, gaping at the extravagant Christmas decorations on display, and nearly collided head-on. They stopped just short of impact, recognition flaring. 

“Uh,” he said awkwardly to her. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she responded. There was a pause.

“Um. Your name’s Selina, right?” he asked. She nodded, then cocked her head to the side.

“And you’re Bruce.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

And that was it. They had run out of things to say. 

Behind them, their parents were catching up, shouting, heels clacking on the wet cement. 

Bruce’s mother pounced on him as soon as she reached him. 

“I told you to stop running off like that,” she scolded, fussing with his collar. Then she looked up. “And who’s your friend?” She asked, smiling at Selina. Bruce started to reply, but his father beat him to it.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, squatting down to their level, covering them all with the umbrella he carried. “Hello, again! What are the odds – Martha, this is the little girl I told you about, from that awful Falcone affair. She kept Bruce company on his adventure.” 

“Really! Well, hello, then.” She extended a hand toward Selina. The child hesitated.

“Oy, girl,” a concerned male voice shouted from down the street. 

“Daddy!” Selina sounded surprised, turning to watch a somewhat disheveled man coming toward them. He was tall with red hair, now plastered to his forehead with the rain. His coat had blown open, and it flapped like great dark wings as he bore down on his daughter.

He stopped short upon seeing Bruce’s parents. 

“Oh my god,” he choked, a slight Irish accent surfacing. “Um. Mister and Mrs. Wayne. I… my name is Arthur Kyle. I’m so sorry for my daughter… for whatever she’s done.” 

Selina bristled. 

“I didn’t do anything,” she huffed. He looked doubtful. To be fair, adults crouched in front of Selina Kyle usually indicated that she had done something to upset them. Selina always maintained that they had started it. Which, to be fair, was usually the case. 

Suddenly, Selina’s mother came panting up after her husband, an infant swaddled in blankets secured in her arms. 

“Selina,” she called. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” Selina called back. Her mother dropped beside her, pulling a knit cap over the little girl’s damp ebony curls. Then she looked up and her eyes widened. 

“Mr. Wayne! Hello, I… honestly never expected to see you again.” Arthur Kyle glanced between his wife and daughter, confused, as she continued, “Or your son – or your lovely wife!” Maria smiled at the woman before her. “Hello,” she said, standing, and the Waynes stood with her. “I don’t believe we’ve met. My daughter and your son apparently struck up a friendship at the funeral.” 

“So I noticed,” Martha Wayne replied. “Thomas told me about a certain stolen kiss.” 

Maria blanched. “I’m sorry about that,” she began seriously. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“No, no,” Martha laughed. “From what I hear, it was adorable. Please, it’s fine. Bruce has always been a ladies’ man.” She pinched his cheek fondly. Bruce shifted, blushing. 

Selina giggled. He scowled at her. 

“Maria,” Arthur muttered. “What’s going on?” 

“Arthur, would you take Maggie and go on inside,” his wife said evasively. “She’s going to catch cold. Selina and I will meet you in there shortly.” She handed the baby to him without waiting for a reply. There was a pause, and then her husband nodded to the Waynes and walked into the department store. 

Selina watched him go. Bruce’s mama extended her hand.

“Martha Wayne,” she smiled. “You’ve met my husband, obviously.” 

“Maria Kyle. And yes. At quite the circus.” 

“Ugh. That family,” Martha said with some repulsion. Then she looked appalled. “Oh, but I’m so sorry – how incredibly rude of me! You were there, you must have some relation?”

“No,” Maria cut her off quickly. “No relation. Only obligation.” Martha sighed in relief. 

“Us too.” She patted Bruce’s shoulder.

“If we could, we’d have nothing to do with their sort,” Mr. Wayne added. “The illegal activities that go on behind that happy-family façade… but, of course, there’s no way to prove it. And so, we must all pay our respects to the social order of things.” 

“Oh, Thomas, really,” Martha chided gently. 

“Well, he has a point,” Maria countered.

Bruce and Selina stood beside one another, watching their parents discuss the funeral, and then the East End, and then crime, and then they stopped listening. 

“Do you want some chocolate,” Bruce asked, holding out a candy bar, looking bored. Selina glanced at her mother, engaged in conversation.

“Ok.” He broke off a piece for her, then one for himself. It tasted delicious.

“Fanks,” Selina said around a mouthful. He shrugged, smiling slightly. 

By the time they had finished the bar, their parents were saying goodbye and urging them to come along. Selina swallowed the last morsel of her snack, then looked at Bruce and grinned broadly. Standing on tiptoes in her shiny, black shoes, she kissed him on the cheek. He reared back, turning bright red. 

“’Bye,” she sang, scurrying to her mother as their parents laughed. Then she was gone.

Bruce’s father picked him up, ruffling his hair jovially. His mother called him a 'Casanova.' Whatever that was.

Bruce gulped, rubbing his cheek.

***** 

The third time they met was at his house, which was huge and weird. 

“We’re so glad you could bring Selina this afternoon,” Martha Wayne said as Selina and her mother followed a man named Alfred into something called the East Parlor. 

“Bruce doesn’t take to people easily, so we try to encourage the few friendships he does manage to make as best we can.” 

“He seems like a sweet boy,” Maria chuckled. Selina said nothing. 

“Bruce,” Bruce’s mama called up the stairs. “Come down here and say hello to our guests.” 

There was a thump from the floor above, followed by the appearance of a tousled head, and then a small, blue-clad frame sliding down the banister. 

“How many times--,” Martha Wayne began, but was cut off by her son’s exclamation of,

“Her?!” 

“Play nice,” his mother sing-songed, ushering Maria Kyle onto the couch. They immediately began talking, and it became rather apparent who was really here to visit whom. 

Selina looked at Bruce uncertainly.

“So…?” She asked. He sighed.

“C’mon. I guess we can play in my room or something,” he said. Selina shrugged.

“’Kay.” 

***** 

The fourth time was at her house, and they played in the hall. Selina didn’t have as many toys as Bruce, and the ones she did have weren’t nearly as nice, but he didn’t say anything mean about it. Their mothers talked about things and made lasagna in the kitchen. 

When Selina’s daddy got home, she and Bruce went and sat on the stairs leading up to the front of the old brownstone. Selina liked it there, the way stray cats would crowd around, meowing for food and affection. They snuck a can of tuna onto the porch, coaxing the felines close enough to pet until Alfred showed up to take Bruce and his mother home. 

***** 

The fifth time was at her fifth birthday party. There was a pretty cake and presents, and lots and lots of little girls. Bruce was extremely intimidated by the sheer number of them. They laughed and bounced around him like pastel-colored balloons, dragging him every which way. 

*****

The sixth time was at his sixth birthday party, and Selina went home early, in tears, because some big, stupid boy named Tommy Elliot had ripped out a chunk of her hair. Tommy was a little older than Bruce, and had been jealous when Bruce had introduced Selina as his ‘friend.’ He’d pushed her down, saying Bruce didn’t need “peasant girls to steal all his money from him.” When Bruce had yelled for him to stop, Tommy’d locked him in a closet. Then he tore at Selina’s hair until Bruce’s father pulled him off of her. 

*****

The seventh time they met, Tommy was over again, and she punched him in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three should be posted shortly!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and critiques welcome!


End file.
